"…Headmaster, that's everything I saw at the Quidditch match, plus my guesses."
With a gentle wave of Dumbledore's hand, all the portraits of past headmasters in the office drifted off to sleep.
In that quiet space, Alice laid out what she'd witnessed during the game and her suspicions about Professor Quirrell.
When she was little and couldn't sleep, Taylor the butler used to tell her bedtime stories.
Every time she heard a kids' tale, Alice had the same question: Why do the heroes never just go get an adult when things go wrong?
As she grew up and saw more of the world, she figured out what the authors were probably going for.
Maybe they wanted kids to learn how to solve problems on their own?
But real life isn't a fairy tale. When a professor is secretly attacking students, Alice knew she had to tell Dumbledore.
Once she finished explaining her suspicions about Quirrell, Dumbledore rested his chin on folded hands, blinked, and asked:
"So, Alice—what do you think I should do about this?"
She caught the encouragement in his eyes and chose her words carefully. "I need to know one thing, sir. Do you actually have everything at this school under control?"
Dumbledore chuckled softly, tapping the desk with his fingers. "Control makes me sound awfully full of myself. But on this? Yes—I can keep you all safe."
Alice nodded. "Got it. This talk went great. I'll roll with whatever comes next."
She downed the tea he'd given her in one gulp, flashed him a grin, and added, "Headmaster, would you mind if I gave you some Eastern tea leaves for Christmas?"
His eyes lit up—he looked genuinely stoked. Alice added, "Cool. Then you'd better put some thought into my gift."
She gave a graceful little curtsy and slipped out of the office.
Dumbledore watched her go, then pulled the Sorting Hat from a display case behind his desk.
"What a clever, brave young lady."
The Sorting Hat started yelling the second it was out. "Albus, you really think Alice Norton growing up like this won't spiral out of control?"
Dumbledore quietly fished a lemon drop from his drawer, popped it in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. "Which famous wizard ever had it easy when they were young?"
"Besides—this is exactly why you put her in Slytherin, isn't it? Don't pretend there wasn't a reason."
"We both know Alice would fit in any house."
Dumbledore stared at the Hat. It played dead again.
After a long pause, the Hat muttered, "I just saw… a possibility."
"A chance for Slytherin—and Hogwarts—to come back together."
Dumbledore nodded. "Yeah. I saw one too."
"But mine's way more interesting than yours."
…
Alice walked the halls, piecing it together. Dumbledore's reactions told her everything—he was running the whole show.
Quirrell, Snape, every little breeze at Hogwarts—he was watching.
It gave her a whole new take on those childhood stories. Maybe the grown-ups in them were thinking like Dumbledore.
He was using the dangers he could control to push the hero to grow.
And the hero he was pushing? Alice could guess with her pinky toe.
The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Harry Potter.
Once she clocked Dumbledore's game, Alice opted out. She wasn't about to be a pawn in his plan to raise Harry.
She had her own goals, her own path. She wasn't getting puppet-mastered like Potter.
Especially since—unlike Harry—she'd already spotted the "Dumbledore strings." She couldn't just ignore them and follow orders.
So she dropped any idea of digging deeper with Dumbledore.
He was sharp—he'd noticed her pushback and let her end the conversation and leave.
The Christmas gift thing? That was her "thanks" for the freedom he'd just handed her.
Still, telling him the truth about the attack on Harry? That was her duty as a friend.
She wasn't about to spill everything to Hermione. That could mess up Dumbledore's plan—and tick him off. Until she was stronger, Alice wasn't poking that bear.
So yeah—power up. That's the move.
Not to fight Dumbledore, but at least to have some say when he tried to move her around the board.
The Myriad Soul Banner on her wrist flared hot the second it sensed her thoughts. It was starving for soul #2.
Alice gently stroked the soul trapped inside. Tonight, she was leaving Hogwarts to hunt her next "victim."
Fingers crossed it went smooth.
Back in the dorm, the Slytherin common room was a total downer. They still hadn't shaken off the Quidditch loss.
Marcus Flint was ripping into the team's Seeker.
"Terence Higgs!"
"I can't believe this—with Harry Potter flailing around on a cursed broom, you still couldn't beat him to the Snitch!"
"Useless! Idiot!"
"And the rest of you—Gryffindor was distracted because of Potter, and you couldn't even capitalize? 'While the cat's away…' ring a bell? I was the only one still playing to win—what were you doing?!"
"Pathetic! Embarrassing loss!"
Higgs wasn't taking it lying down. "Harry got lucky! Who knew the Snitch would fly right into his mouth?"
Flint snorted. "Heh."
Higgs's face went beet red. "Oh, and you're so much better? You know what the other houses are saying? That you're a dirty player—that scoring when Potter was down wasn't 'honorable.'"
Things were getting heated. The prefect finally stepped in. "Enough! Take your fight to the locker room if you're gonna yell."
Alice watched the drama, then noticed Draco Malfoy had snuck up behind her.
"Mr. Malfoy, creeping up on people isn't very aristocratic. Is that the Malfoy family upbringing?"
Malfoy gave an awkward laugh. "Think if I get my dad to buy the team new brooms, I could bump Higgs and take Seeker?"
Alice smiled politely. "Sure—if your dad builds Hogwarts a whole new castle, you can replace Dumbledore as headmaster. That'd be way cooler."
"Tch."
Alice's little tch left Malfoy's face as red as Higgs's.